Lost
by pharo
Summary: Sydney POV on the darkness in her mind.


Lost ****

Lost

Author: Pharo

Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, and ABC.

Summary: Sydney POV on the darkness in her mind.

Feedback: pharo@onebox.com

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everything's so blurry, everyone's so fake, everybody's empty, and everything is so messed up… **-Puddle of Mudd**

The strong wind blows hard, causing trees to sway this way and that. They seem to be dancing and chasing each other, moving to the music only their leaves can hear. Thunder sound loud enough to knock anyone off their feet. The soft drizzle that had once been has now turned into heavy raindrops, careening across the sky and crashing down on the pavement.

Most people are already in their houses, having dinner or watching TV or doing whatever they're doing. They're dry and warm and safe. I, on the other hand, am running in the cold without any real direction.

I left when the first drops started to fall. I'm running so hard. My legs hurt, yet I quicken my pace. I'm running as fast as I can. My lungs feel like they are going to burst—I can practically hear them scream for air. Somehow, I manage to slow down, but I'm still running. 

I can't manage anything anymore. I can't stop the sobs that are wracking my body or the world that is spinning out of control in my mind. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm doing out in the rain. All I know is that I have to keep moving. If I stop, I won't know who I am—not that I really know now. 

I can't really think straight at this moment. My head feels hazy and cluttered. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or why I can't see through the dark fog pulled all around my mind. This place my mind is in—it's scary. There are shadows and secrets shrouded in the corners _of_ corners. 

Am I completely messed up? Every time I close my eyes, the world stops and I hear the single sound of the explosion. Everything is quiet and I feel like I'm in one of those old black-and-white silent films. Just when I settle into the comfort of having peace, I hear it. 

It gives no warnings. It comes all of a sudden. The explosion goes off and the sound is deafening. It's like a bubble has popped—except it's a million times louder. It's endless—thirty seconds in reality that feels like a whole lifetime in my mind. I want to cover my ears in some futile attempt to dull out the sound. I want to close my eyes to the sight of the building engulfing in bright swirls of fire. But I can't move. I can't do anything but stare and feel the stinging of my eyes and the wetness of my face. 

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Snap out of it, Sydney. Snap out of it.

And then the scene is no longer there. Instead, I see his face and I feel all this pain in my heart. I'm surprised my heart doesn't break from the pressure of it all. I hear her voice and I feel the weakness in my legs.

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"There's been an accident. He was coming from this interview with some woman and—he was going too fast and he…he didn't see the car coming—"

"Francie, what—"

"Will's dead."

I feel the phone fall from my hand, but I can't hear the sound of hit the floor. The sound of the other car screeching is too loud. I can just see the expression of fear on his face. I can just see the other car right now—big—not too big—and black. It has to be black. Black is the color of death. 

His wonderful face with the little stubble—I'll never see it again. All because I wasn't careful. All because I didn't stop him before he got too far. All because he was trying to help me. His face—bruised and bloody—just like Danny's. Will's face turns into Danny's. Will's fate was the same as Danny's, but they don't care. What's another dead face to them?

And all of sudden, just as the memory had taken a hold of me, it lets go and I open my eyes to come back to the real world again. I manage to put the breaks on my feet and stop finally. It's a surprise that the soles of my sneakers are not on fire and I'm not collapsed somewhere on the pier that I passed about five minutes ago. My lungs are still burning—

Breathe.

Where the hell am I? This is not outside—

"Sydney?"

I turn the 180-degrees to face him.

"Vaughn?"

"What happened?" His face immediately fills with concern. 

Why is he doing that? What the hell is wrong with him? Doesn't he know that doing that is dangerous? The last time someone looked at me like that—the last time someone cared—he died. I can't have that happen again.

"Sydney?"

I realize that I've been standing there without a word for the last couple of minutes. Slowly, I look up at him and I try to fight back the tears.

"What are you doing here?"

"This is my office, remember?"

Gee, wouldn't it have been smart to look around at the present surroundings before asking him what _he_ was doing in _his_ office. I mentally slapped myself in the head.

"Are you ok?"

I shake my head 'no' and try to keep back the tears. I'll never be ok.

"Sit down." He leads me over to the solitary couch in his office. His hands are so warm. Or is it that my arm is cold? It would make sense after all. Everything else inside me is frozen. My hands might as well be also. Spending time running like a maniac in the rain can do that to you. Apparently, he's noticed it too. 

"Do you want some coffee or maybe some tea? I've got tea. The regular kind and some herbal stuff."

"I don't want to get your couch all wet," I say pointing at the vinyl couch.

"It's ok. It'll dry or wipe off or whatever. I'll take care of it. Just sit down."

I want to ask, 'Can you take care of everything?' Wouldn't be nice if he could just make all this stuff disappear. Wouldn't it be so good if he just could turn back time and make everything better?

"I should have called," I say.

"It's ok."

"No, it's not," I say, my voice quivering even to my own ears. "It's not ok. Nothing will ever be ok. He didn't even know that there were people in there. He thought that I was telling him the truth. And I thought that—I didn't mean to—I thought he only set up one bomb, but I should've known."

"Sydney, no. There's no way you could have known."

"If I'd made sure or if I stopped him…maybe…"

"Sydney, listen to me. Are you listening?" 

I nod. Yeah, I'm listening, but nothing he can possibly say is going to do anything for me.

"Life is full of 'ifs' and 'maybes'. What if you had done this or maybe if you'd known that—but, it doesn't work out that way. Sydney, there'll always be 'ifs' and 'maybes' no matter how well you handle it. Things happen and sometimes, we don't get why. But they happen. It's tough and you'll never be quite ready for them, but you just have to go through them and know that people are there to help you. Not all people, but if you're lucky, some."

If only life were that simple.

"The same thing will happen again. I can't afford to have them help me. I can't. They try to help me and they die. Danny—he didn't know _anything_—anything at all that could jeopardize us and—they got him. And Will. What about Will? All he wanted to do was help and they killed him. They killed him _because of me_."

He shakes his head.

"No. You know that isn't true. They did it not you," he says slowly, trying to get his point across.

"I might as well have."

"It's not your fault. Not. Your. Fault," he says, enouncing every word.

Yes, yes it is. It was no accident. It was murder—cold and calculated. Will would never drive _too_ fast. He had a hard time _reaching_ the speed limit, let alone exceeding it. He'd never go too fast, no matter what he was coming from. He was careful—just not careful enough. He'd still be here if he knew to be just a little more careful…

"It'll be ok," he says and his words sinking in. "You've still got my number, right?"

A little laugh escapes from me—one that I didn't even know was there _to_ escape—as I realize how emotional I must seem to him. 

"You must think I'm a complete drama-queen, huh? Every time I call or…rather not call…I end up breaking down and telling you all of my problems. I'm usually not like this, really. I'm much calmer and—"

"Don't worry about it," he says, smiling. 

He has a nice smile. It makes me feel warm like I felt back when Danny was alive. 

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Back when Danny was alive…

It seems like a time long ago. Back when Will was still the best friend that thought I worked for the bank and my father was a businessman. Back when I thought that SD-6 were the good guys and my job was thrilling because I was working to make the world just a little bit better. Back when things were safe.

"Sydney, you ok?"

"Huh?" His voice brings me back to reality. "Sorry, my mind was somewhere else."

"Yeah, that happens to me, too."

"Where are you?"

"Not here…" His voice drifts off and I can tell that he's thinking of another life. I know. I've been there.

The clock on his wall clicks, signaling that it's 9:00. He looks up from his thoughts. He has a nice face. Smooth, shaven, thoughtful…

"I…uh…I have to go home," I say, getting up. I need to get out of his office before—before something stupid happens. Before someone gets hurt. "Thanks for…for being here."

"Always." How poetic the word is. 

I start to leave.

"Wait, let me give you a ride."

"I don't know if that's—it's not too far away," I say. I want to tell him that I'd love a lift home, but it isn't too safe. 

"It's raining pretty hard out there. I don't want you to catch pneumonia. If it makes you feel better, I'll drop you off a block away and you can walk from there."

"Ok, thanks."

"What are friends for?" He leads the way out of the building and to his car.

He's a friend—one that I call in a time of need. He's a friend that I'm afraid to be around, even if he makes me feel safer. Even if he has a smile that makes me feel like I haven't felt in so long. In my head, it isn't as dark anymore. He made things not so miserable. I can feel the first streaks of soft sunshine pierce through the haze of fog in my mind. Yeah, he's a friend and us—we're just friends.


End file.
